My Surprise Sidetrip to the Phillipines

Sidetrack to the Phillipines-(aka South Africa Month 2)
I was pretty sick with a nasty case of... let’s say intestinal irritation for most of the month I spent in South Africa, so for this one, I’ll focus on my time in the Phillipines.
In this episode, I...
-inexplicably go to the Phillipines
-“Pole-dance” on a river barge in Bohol
-get locked naked in a small closet room in Manila
Okay, so I wasn’t exactly expecting to cross the Phillipines off my list, being in Africa (and therefore nowhere near it), but employers were having their tri-annual in person global conference and they were willing to cover the transportation costs, so why not?
The flight from South Africa was a long one as you might expect. We went through Hong Kong and Manila (changing planes of course), before switching to the domestic Phillipine Airlines for the flight to Bohol, an island in the southern central Visayas chain and the home of our conference. I had heard Phillipine Airlines didn’t exactly have the greatest reputation, and while I think the planes I was on were modern enough and fine, it didn’t exactly help my aviophobia when the pilot would make abrupt announcements like “PLANE TAKEOFF!” “PLANE LAND NOW!” “BAD WEATHER! PLANE MAY GO BACK MANILA. PLANE MAY NOT BE ABLE TO LAND BUT WE TRY!” (Bohol, being in the tropics and quite hot and wet, can whip some nasty storms without much warning). I’m thankful they didn’t inform that the airport in Bohol apparently also lacks a proper tower and so the pilot had to “eyeball it” until after we landed.
The airport in Bohol, named Tagbilaran (say that 10 times fast) after the city it is in, is quite a small (its surrounded by houses), crowded facility, with one runway and only enough space for two jets at any given time, though there are frequent flights every couple hours. The only airport for an island of 1.2 million, it can seem a tad chaotic to outside eyes, but that’s life for many Phillipinos.
Of course, I can’t complain. The resort my organization booked us into, the Amorita Resort, was far from chaotic, it was probably one of the nicest places I’ve ever stayed, with spacious rooms, a pool that seemed have no rail, and a team of hotel staff overly eager to bend over backwards to help you (just try to carry your own luggage and see what happens). If that wasn’t enough, the hotel sat on a gorgeous cliff overlooking the ocean, right beside a long sandy beach that you could easily walk down to (at low tide anyway), where you could find plenty of restaurants, hotels, and other services. So while my days were spent at the conference, my evenings were spent on the beach.
While I was here to work, I did manage to find time for a couple of excursions around Bohol and a couple of surrounding small islands. A group of us went snorkelling off an island just off the coast, where you could see the seafloor going from a shallow shelf to a cliff diving into the depths. These environments are great for colourful fish and it was amazing how easy it was to just dip your head underwater and see a multitude of beautiful fish that from the surface you would never know where there. Of course, I would have seen more if I found a way to keep the waves from filling up my snorkel and giving me an unexpected mouthful of saltwater sending me coughing to the surface.
My Swedish friend Henrik had no such aquatic achille’s heel. In fact, I’m not sure I even saw him come up for air the entire time we were there. Even when they made us switch boats on the island, he refused, saying he’d just swim it, which he did.
Meanwhile we waited while the island village men tried to wrestle a massive and resisting hog onto a flimsy canoe to be taken across the water to slaughter (can’t say I blame the hog for resisting). The boats are generally small, wooden, narrow, lifejacket-less canoes with outriggers to give them stability in the rough ocean waves.
Nearby, we also went to see dolphins, but there were too many other boats with the same idea, so basically one dolphin would come up and blow its air, and immediately 15 vessels would pounce on the area, undeniably driving whatever dolphin or fish were there far away.
The tour on land was a bit more successful, not in spotting dolphins but in spotting land-based landmarks which have the advantage of being on land and generally not moving. This tour included beautifully worn Spanish-era churches (including one with a miracle spring), sites where Spanish conquistadors and local chieftains made alliances, a butterfly park with large beautiful butterflies in colours like blue, green, yellow, you name it. We also went to a sanctuary for the Phillipine Tarsier, a rare, primitive-looking, and mini primate that, while once wide spread, only exists in the wild on a couple of islands, Bohol being one.
From an evolution standpoint, these guys are fascinating, because they look like a missing link between the earliest placental mammals (which were probably rodent-like) and monkeys (and eventually humans). They’re actually tiny things, one could easily fit in my hand, with long rat-like tails, a big ball-like furry body, and big black eyes that take up a third of their body (they’re nocturnal). The only thing obviously primate about them is their hands (yes they have hands), with really skinny, bony fingers that they use to wrap around tree branches. They are cute as hell. Despite their size and appearance, they’re apparently one of the most carnivorous of primates, going after insects, small lizards, and even fling themselves at small birds.
That said, interactions between tarsiers and humans, have not been good for the former. The tarsier is a very sensitive creature, and apparently ones that have been taken as pets (something that’s not supposed to be done) often don’t last very long, committing suicide by banging their fragile foreheads. The sanctuary itself was tiny, located right beside a noisy highway, with small cages, debatable care (we noticed one of the tarsiers appeared to be injured and we were quickly dismissed by the attendant) and an endless parade of tourists, told not to use flash photography or touch the tarsiers, but no doubt being typical tourists. Even in our group, which generally consisted of people working on environmental issues, one guy’s stubborn insistence on taking a picture of a tarsier with his camera (which shot a red light on its subject) ended up waking up the tarsier which had been trying to sleep (it was daylight after all, and the things are nocturnal). It didn’t help that he accidentally turned on his flash.
All and all, the tarsiers seem to be in a lot of trouble, and their only hope is that there’s enough jungle left for enough of them to live their lives unmolested.
If I had a been a bit saddened by my experience with the tarsiers, I was pleasantly surprised by the chocolate hills, Bohol’s most famous tourist attraction, a series of highland odd shaped hills that look like the top half of an egg. These hills are surprisingly impressive, and there were a ton of them. No actual chocolate though, that name apparently comes from an American researcher who visited during the short dry season and saw them as chocolate brown.
After this, we went for a dinner cruise on the Loboc river, a surprising large river for a not-so-large island (they do get a lot of rain mind you). It was night now, but you could see the lush palm trees lining either side lit up by Christmas lights as we cruised down the way.
A journey into the heart of darkness, this was not, as while we eventually came to a dark and especially jungly bend of the river, and our boat mysteriously decided to go ashore, the lights came on and we wwere greeted musically by the “Loboc River Surprise Choir,” a 15 person class of children and their instructor who sing traditional songs and dance (and no doubt surprise tourists on a regular basis). The choir was surprising good and the children were fantastic dancers. In not much time, the tourists were brought into the dancing as well, which we naturally did poorly. Some of the dances involved “churning the butter”with an actual butter churner, pretending to play the ukelele, and “pole dancing” which isn’t what it sounds like. In this traditional dance, two girls grab either end of two poles and they bang them on the ground twice, and together once, keeping up that rhythm. The challenge is dance through the moving poles without getting your ankles bruised, and to do it with style. Naturally children were much better at this than I, but what I lacked in skill and I made up in enthusiasm.
After the conference ended, I spent another day or two lounging on the beach in Bohol, and getting a great sunburn, before heading to Manila for a couple days, before heading back to South Africa.
If the beaches of Bohol are heaven, Manila is... well something else. Said by some to be the most densely populated city on the planet, the chaos starts as soon as you leave the airport (and in some cases even before that).
Manila is a gritty, crowded, and congested megalopolis that can be hard to love, especially when you’re getting chased down the street by street hawkers, dubious cab drivers, and “masseuses” offering massages and “other business.” That said, its not all bad news. If you like exotic automobiles, the classic Phillipino jeepney is sure leave an impression. Originally constructed from leftover American jeeps after WW2, these symbols of Phillipine culture are the local equivalent of the South African minibus taxi, except far more colourful. They look a bit like small silver school buses, decorated head to toe with colourful frills, biblical passages, and seemingly anything the driver might want to throw on there. Charming as they are in the daylight, the seeming lack of muffler on them makes decidedly less so at night, when their trademark honk and roar may rustle you from your sleep on a consistent basis.
Unfortunately, I never figured out how to use them, focusing on the metro system mostly. Coming home from the National Museum of the Phillipines on rush hour (the Museum had a few interesting exhibits, although that time it seemed most of the good stuff was in storage or “under restoration.”) The metro was definitely the most crowded train I have ever been, although I did manage to befriend a Phillipino-American girl, Jenny, and her non-English-speaking boyfriend (well at least I befriended her, not sure the boyfriend liked me all that much). She was shocked to see a Caucasian on the subway, but as I was good degree of body mass bigger than most of the people on the subway, I didn’t take her warnings about crowding that seriously, until a rush hour rush swarmed the train, I got shoved from behind towards her girlfriend, and the poor girl got sandwiched somewhere between us (although she seemed to be okay with it, I guess it was preferable to alternatives). Eventually we got to my stop and I literally had to shove my way through the crowd just to get off and avoid retrace my journey.
On Saturday, I had an unexpected experience. Staying as I was at a budget hotel with a shared bathroom, I went to shower first thing in the morning as I normally do. Now, these bathrooms aren’t like western bathrooms, they’re more like closets with a toilet (possibly), a sink, and a shower (but no curtain, so the toilet’s always wet) crammed in. I didn’t want to hold up the rooms with the toilets in case someone else came, so I opted to shower in the one room that didn’t have one. But as I finished freshing myself up, I had a bit of a surprise. The door knob had come off its footing, not enough to actually fall off, but enough it could no longer operate the latch. I found myself locked in a closet with nothing to wear but a towel.
I soon realized I was in a MacGyver situation. Using nothing but the contents of my shaving kit (which included Mach 3 razors, dental floss, tooth paste, rolled up sunblock, and various remnants of cold medication) I was going to have jimmy-rig an escape from my damp prison. Using my best cognitive skills, I tried to come up with a solution and finally I had one. I banged loudly on the door and yelled for help until someone finally heard me and let me out.
All and all, although Manila wasn’t really my favourite place in the world, the Phillipines does have some beautiful and quite affordable destinations that are worth checking out, although I won’t be able to afford the Amorita Resort on my own budget any time soon.

South Africa-MONTH ONE

South Africa – MONTH ONE (JOHANNESBURG)
In this episode, I...
-Visit Soweto, South Africa’s most notorious township
-Walk around
-Cause a diplomatic incident with a Swedish diplomat
Arriving in Johannesburg from Dubai, I had already been on the road for a week or so, but landing in Africa (said to be the homeland of us all) for the first time is a surreal experience to say the least. My first impressions of Jo’burg were a city that’s quite spread out, basically a series of disparate suburbs climbing up and down one hill or another. Compared to Dubai, it’s helluva lot more green with rolling hills and lots of vegetation. It’s also a lot grittier, but perhaps not as gritty as you think.
with expressways going every which way and following system unbeknownst to many (including many lifetime residents who are heavily dependent on their in-car navigators despite the fact that such devices get just as confused in these streets as humans do). Problem is a lot of the streets were renamed after apartheid and the acceptance of the new names has been met with mixed success, so getting from point A to B can get a little hairy; especially if you don’t actually have a car here (which I don’t).
I heard legends before I came about the aggressiveness of Jo’burg drivers and it generally lives up to the reputation, with many religiously touting the often-quoted false principle that you’re safer if you drive faster, while they spin around a roundabout and charge over another speedbump—both quite plentiful and both completely ineffective in slowing reckless drivers. For some reason, standard transmissions are more affordable here than automatics and most cars come as compact standards, so while you’re clinging to your seat, the driver is also jabbing you in the leg with the stick shift.
That said, many of the myths around Johannesburg aren’t as well deserved. Yes, crime here is an absolute serious issue—a product of a mixture of poverty, corruption, and bureaucracy—but its not like I need an armed guard just to walk outside. I’ve walked on my own now numerous times without issues. As long you keep yourself safe and use common sense, you should be fine. Just mind the drivers.
That said, South Africa’s troubled history has created something of a security culture. Everyone above a certain class, black, white, or whatever, lives in gated compounds, often topped with barbed wire (or even sparking electric fences) other security apparatuses. The most annoying are the guard dogs which bark venom at you for the crime of walking past their gate. For some who loves dogs and has fond memories of canines greeting guests at the door, the fact that these dogs have been trained to snarl at any stranger that walks by is a bit disheartening but such is life.
The place I’m staying doesn’t have any dogs, although they do have 2 cats, 3 chickens, and apparently giant tarantula-like spiders as my hostess Anriette loves to tease me about. I live in a small basement suite under the deck, while Anriette and her family live in the main house upstairs. The property’s quite nice, very lush and vegetative even with a pool (although its not heated and usually too cold to swim in). To give you an idea of the biodiversity around here, Anriette says that over 60 different bird species have been spotted on her property alone.
The neighbourhood is called Melville and is considered the hip Bohemian neighbourhood of Joburg. It’s quite safe, although you sometimes hear otherwise, and while it apparently has lost some of its lustre in recent years—so the locals say—its still a good hangout place.
Soweto
Of course, its not the only neighbourhood I’ve visited and not the most famous in Jo’burg by far.
Soweto, while technically a separate city, is a place whose very name brings up memories of racial segregation and oppression under apartheid. That said, Apartheid ended over 20 years ago, and Soweto didn’t freeze into a time capsule. One of the things that surprised me most about my tour of Soweto was how much wealth did exist in the city.
Unless Rocinha, the slum I visited in Rio de Janeiro where everyone but the drug dealers and an odd soccer player were desperately poor, Soweto had very obvious class differences. The neighbourhood has seen the rise of a burgeoning black middle class—and like middle classes everywhere, they want their two car garages.
And so you see them, large suburban homes with fancy cars and paid servants, displaying a wealth I could never hope for. This is the new Soweto.
But it is not the whole Soweto.
Beyond the wealth suburbs, you only have to cross the street to find the upper lower classes. These houses are more like what you would find in Rocinha, hastily thrown together with whatever was available. Still they seem reasonably stable and livable and the rule of law still applies.
Beyond though you can seem some of the darker sides of Soweto, row housing like shantytowns occupied primarily by often illegal immigrants from Zimbabwe. These sections are said to be run by gangs and are said to be avoided, but even here you can see new decent construction replacing the old houses. It’s hard to say how long the show homes have been there and whether or not the movement of people into the new buildings—said to be plagued by corruption—is going quickly (like most things in Africa, I’d say its probably not), but its nice to see that some progress has been made (especially compared to Rocinha, where the situation seemed static).
Some parts of Soweto, notably the area around the former homes of Nelson “Mandiba” Mandela and Bishop Desmond Tutu have become regular tourist haunts, almost overrun in fact. But all in all, it appears to be a place where hope for a better tomorrow has already taken them along way.
Apartheid Museum
The most famous museum in Johannesburg is actually a private enterprise—although its curation is much more easily to follow than poor public Museum Afrika—the museum is massive and much like the Holocaust Museum in Berlin has visitors experience the history through artistic means—such as being issued a card saying whether they are white or non-white and being told to enter through separate doors. The museum does a great job of explaining how the system of apartheid came about and the horrors of it, but without demonizing the Afrikaans. Lots of videos of key figures, both for and and against apartheid are played and there is a room full of nooses standing as a memorial to those who lost their lives fighting to bring apartheid down.
The Origins Centre
Africa is the birthplace of humanity (which makes apartheid highly ironic, since we all originated here and are effectively just cousins). And while at some point I’d like to get out of town to explore the Cradle of Humankind itself (where some of the earliest human remains in the world have been found) it looks like I’ll need to rent a car for that.
The Origins Centre based at the University of Witswaterand (pronounced Vits, don’t ask me why) has a great little exhibit on the evolution of humankind and the people of South Africa. Apparently they used to take your DNA tell you what your ancestry was (Europeans for example, are all descended from only 7 seven who each entered Europe at different epochs, the so-called “Seven Mothers of Europe.” There’re similar women for all the other continents). For someone like me who loves history—or in the case pre-history—minus the technical stuff about australopithecine bones and what have you, this was a great place to spend a day, although I really want to get out to the Cradle of Humankind and see the real deal. Anyone willing to lend me their car?
Speaking of South African peoples, most of the people I’ve come into contact here are Afrikaans, although I do work with a couple of black South Africans as well, although most of them are from Zimbabwe (is everyone from Zimbabwe? Is there anyone left there?), Kenya, and other nearby African countries. Being Caucasian, I’m often mistaken for Afrikaans until I open my mouth, at which point I’m promptly mistaken for being American (“What part of the States are you from?” and such are always great questions).
That said, I will say I haven’t seen as much racial tension as South Africa’s reputation had let me to suspect. Maybe I’ve been protected from it, but generally speaking people seem to get along regardless of whether they are black, white, “coloured” (South African term for mixed-race), brown, yellow, or whatever. Granted whites and other non-blacks seem, on the whole, to be far wealthier on average, the main division in this country these days appears to be based on class rather than race.
Case in point, I went to an open-mic comedy show at a local legendary spot called Cool Runnings (love the name) a Jamaican-themed pub. The stand-up comedians, while predominantly white there were black and Indian comics as well, performed before a primarily black, although there were other groups there as well. Anyway, like many basement stand-ups, these guys didn’t hold any punches when it came to jokes about the various ethnicities in South Africa and they didn’t really care too much for political correctness either. Some told jokes about blacks that back home might’ve got a white comic lynched, but here sent a primarily black audience rolling the aisles laughing. Well there weren’t really aisles, the place was full wall to wall.
I consider that a good thing. If both/all sides can joke openly and with each other about their country’s issues with race, without being racist or worrying about appearing as such, probably a lot more honest discussion comes of it.
Although it must have been hair-raising for my buddy Henrik Almostrom.
Henrik is my work mate and my closest friend here in South Africa. He and I went to the comedy show while his gf Katrina was out of town.
If I offered a prize for the most Swedish person I ever met, it would be Henrik.
Tall, blonde, big ears, big grin, and with a fashion sense that can only be described as European, Henrik’s a great guy, but he gets a LOT of attention I can tell he’d prefer not to have. I’m used to people I’m with getting hit on more than I do, but usually its considered a bad thing. Not this time.
A couple times we’ve gone out for drinks now, Henrik and I have been just having a chat over a beer and some drunk inexplicably decides to aggressively hit on him despite various messages to back off. Henrik, to his credit, stays friendly through most of it, although he’s clearly uncomfortable when they won’t leave him alone.
Anyways at the comedy show, they were clearly identifying anyone in the audience who might be foreign and having a go at them: Americans, Greeks, a couple of Indians from India, and you could see Henrik hiding in the dark when the MC scoured the crowd. That said, we had a good time.
One thing about being Canadian, its sometimes hard to pick on us. I remember once a comic tried to pick on me and it went something like this.
“You’re Canadian?”
“Yeah.”
“I went Toronto once. It was pretty clean.”
“Um. Okay...”
“Yeah, that’s all I got.”
But the Swedes have IKEA, and that’s a whole new kettle of worms.
That said, Henrik got a good laugh at my expense a little bit later on. While both of us were helping at a conference that had been poorly organized by one of APC’s rivals, I was doing an ombudsman type job with name tags, as a lot of people had their tags lost or screwed up.
One guy came up to me and said.
“I am not from the Swedish embassy.”
I looked at his tag. It said Swedish embassy on it, so I crossed it out with a felt marker and handed it back to him, jokingly answering “there you go, ambassador.”
To which he gruffly replied “not anymore.”
Henrik then explained that this man was the former Swedish ambassador. To which I responded, “Oh.”
A little bit later on, we had a talk about American politics and I guess he forgave me as the former ambassador asked me what the word “deification” meant after I mentioned the “deification of Ronald Reagan.”
All and all its been an eventful month and I’m sure the next one will be just as eventful.
Until then.